CROSSFIRE - Atlantis DSV - New Cape Quest

“Would you have changed your decision if I did?”
“Probably not,” Banick admitted. “But I might have understood yours.”
Ainsley nodded. “And where does this live us?”
Banick smirked and finally turned from the window to plant himself back on the chair
he‟d left. “I would imagine right back where we started,” he admitted again. “Trying to
understand why you did it.”
Ainsley frowned deeply, his face blank and devoid of an answer, and entirely
unknowing of the question.
“My promotions board, nearly two years ago, right before we lost the Atlantis,” Banick
reminded him. “You scrubbed me, and for the life of me, I‟ve never been able to understand
why.”
Mark Ainsley closed his eyes as he realised what Banick was talking about and
sighed heavily. They‟d both sharply avoided the subject ever since he‟d arrived, and
Banick‟s hostility was now beginning to make some degree of sense.
“I don‟t know what to tell you,” he said simply. “You weren‟t ready for command. It
was that simple.”
“You kept it from me, Admiral,” Banick continued in a manner that was calmer and
more collected than he‟d been for the entire mission. “Whatever you thought, you hid your
concerns from me. Maybe I was grossly mistaken, but I thought I had your respect. Was I
wrong, Admiral?”
Ainsley sat down slowly as he started to remember. Banick‟s breakdown on the
bridge of the Atlantis nearly eighteen months before had gnawed at him ever since: the
culmination of a loss so great that it had driven the man over the edge. He‟d hit rock bottom
when Ainsley had needed him most, on the command deck, just as the great ship slowly
died around them. The look in the Commander‟s eyes that day had been a vacant and
lifeless thousand-mile-stare that Ainsley had witnessed more times during his career than he
cared to recount.
He recalled the doubt he held over Banick‟s well-being even before that penultimate
fall, and how just a few short months prior to that day he‟d been presented with the
endorsement papers from the promotions board in New Cape Quest that carried Banick‟s
name. Not only did he refuse to sign them, but he wrote back to the board and explained
why.
As it happened, his call had been correct. But now that Banick knew, even Ainsley
couldn‟t quite understand why he had never brought those concerns to him. Perhaps it was
the three decades of experience that had taught him the importance of professional
detachment, but even that felt like a pale excuse for the man that had, for the vast majority of
their service together, served with extraordinary capacity and faithfulness as his executive
officer.
“I‟ve always respected you, Banick,” he admitted. “If it‟s a reason you‟re after, then
I‟m not certain I have one that will satisfy you. At the time, you weren‟t ready, and we both
know that.”
“And what about now?” he pressed. “Is that the reason you didn‟t tell me about
Cathgate? That you didn‟t trust me?”
Ainsley shook his head. “It‟s not that simple. You have a responsibility to seven
hundred people on this ship. If it were a decision that affected you alone, then I would have
come to you long before now.” His gaze drifted off, which in turn drew Banick‟s attention
again. “As for my own actions... I can only apologise. I‟m sorry I didn‟t bring my concerns to
you. I‟ve grown far too accustomed to detachment, and I doubt that‟s ever going to change.
But for what it‟s worth, you got to where you are now on your own merits. Captain Edsall had
one hell of an XO, and he‟d be proud of you now. Just as I am.”
Banick was astounded. For two years, all he had ever wanted was an apology, and
had prepared himself for the mother of all battles to get it. Without a fight, Ainsley had given
it unreservedly. The feeling was underwhelming, and the Captain started to wonder if it had
ever meant as much to him as he thought it did. The hostility he‟d shown Ainsley had been
unbecoming and now that they had come to that place, there wasn‟t much left to say.
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